So chattering, the old woman trotted off by her tall daughter’s side, until they had reached Mr Tasker’s field. The open-air service had commenced some time when they arrived there. The thirty or forty people assembled had sung several hymns and listened to Hugh Owen’s earnest prayer, and were now engrossed by his address. The young preacher stood upon a bench, his long hair waving in the summer breeze; his eyes fixed upon his small congregation, and his arms stretched out as though to embrace them. He was not so enrapt, though, but that he perceived the approach of Nell and her mother, who took up their stand on the outside of the little group. His pale cheek glowed for a moment, and his heart beat more rapidly, but he soon subdued these feelings and threw his soul once more into the work he had appointed himself to do. He paused for one instant to recover his equanimity, and then proceeded with his discourse. ‘What is the great evil of this world, my friends?’ he said. ‘What is the greatest sin we sin against each other and ourselves? The sin of deceit. We deceive each other in trading--even the smallest grain of cheating, be it the quarter of a quarter of an ounce less in the scales than it should be, is as great a robbery in God’s eyes; as great a wrong to our neighbour; as great a wrong to ourselves, as if it had been a hundredweight! We deceive each other in religion. We go to church or chapel because others do, and others would think us irreligious if we neglected to do so, but we do not tell our neighbours this. We profess that we attend service for the love of God--because we could not be happy without attending; because the duty is a comfort and a delight to us. Can any duty so fulfilled bring any blessing in its train? And many of us are living lies! This seems a hard judgment, but look into your own hearts and say if it is not true! Which of you shows yourself in your true light to the world? Your small meannesses--your hasty tempers--your neglected duties--your backbitings--you put them all aside in public, and let your neighbours think you good mistresses; kind wives and husbands; liberal parents, and faithful friends. But do you imagine you can deceive God--the God of truth, who hates a lie--from whose heaven, we are told, all liars shall be excluded? How many of you now before me could enter that heaven to-day? How many are there who, if their real characters were known--if their secret sins were laid bare--would be received with the love and respect which you all accept as your due? Many a pure and beautiful outside conceals a deceitful soul--many an apparently innocent face is the mask for a guilty conscience; but you cannot deceive your God; He knows every sin you have committed--every wrong thought you have entertained. Is it not strange that what you are not afraid to let your God know you have done, you would not have your neighbour find out for all the